Liasons
by spadeaffected
Summary: A new CSI begins at the lab and ruffles some feathers. Hopefully you find the story better than the summary. Rated teen for language and themes. Chapter 8 is up! Please read and review, critique greatly encouraged!
1. Chapter 1

Gil Grissom was seated in the leather chair at his desk, his forehead pressed to the cool steel top. He massaged his temples and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting an oncoming headache. It had been a long week at Las Vegas CSI. The pull of his uncomfortable suit pants only reminded him of the fact that his rape-murder suspect's case got thrown to that morning at the preliminary hearing, due to contaminated evidence.

"Collect it or lose it," he had said to Nick at the time, picking up the crucial murder weapon – a chair leg – and unknowingly pressing his fingerprints right over the perp's. The courts hadn't kept up with the lab's technology, and the split prints didn't hold up in court. The fucker was sent free.

Grissom gritted his teeth. He didn't even want to think about the case at hand. He had until the end of the day to find what could have scratched his victim's face, and he'd looked through garden tool catalogues countless times – nothing matched. Things were not looking good for graveyard shift.

A particularly violent thumping engaged his thoughts, and he pressed his palms to his ears and banged his head on the desk once. The thumping persisted.

"Gil Grissom?" He heard a muffled voice. "Are you alright, sir?"

Grissom looked up. A girl was standing outside the office, wrist cocked quizzically, as if wondering whether or not to knock again, while the other hand rested uneasily on the doorknob. Her face wore a puzzled expression, as if she wasn't sure if she should enter uninvited and tend to the behaviours of the CSI supervisor. He held up a hand, signalling for her to wait, and moved quickly to the door, ushering her inside the office.

They both made to speak, but upon seeing each other's mouths open, kept quiet. They spent a moment in an awkward silence, and this was when Grissom caught an eyeful of the girl. She had dark brown hair, bound into a twist held together with a chopstick. Her grey eyes shone in the dim light of the lab, and their almond shape gave her an oriental appearance. However, her skin was pale, luminescent almost. She wore a pinstriped blazer over a faded Rolling Stones tshirt, and dark jeans. The white tips of her Converse Chuck Taylors peeked out from beyond the rolled-up cuffs.

She smiled slightly, revealing pearly teeth. "I apologize," she began, bowing her head. Her accent was rich yet indistinct. "I interrupted your… moment." Grissom laughed. "I am looking for a Gil Grissom, could you point me in his direction?"

Grissom pointed a thumb to his chest, and then offered a hand to the girl. "Gil Grissom, supervisor. And you are…?"

The girl took his hand and shook it firmly, for her size. "Chisato Dominico, I'm the new CSI." Grissom marvelled at the fluid change in her accent, from the smoothness of what was presumably Japanese, to the machine-gun fire Italian.

"I'm sorry, I expected someone…" Grissom trailed off.

"Nerdy?"

"I was going to say older," he smiled coyly.

She laughed. "I was going to say the same about you, Dr. Grissom." He narrowed his eyebrows at her and she clapped a hand to her mouth, realizing how familiar she had gotten within a few minutes. "Sorry." She apologized again, looking away from Grissom's chastising stare.

"I'm kidding," he smirked, and dug through a pile of folders on his desk, procuring a thin blue file with the name "Dominico, Chisato" stamped on the tab. He flipped through the loose papers inside, waving about the one he was looking for and glancing at Chisato expectantly before reading it.

"Chisato Dominico, twenty-six years of age, single, received a Bachelor of Science degree at the University of Florence and PhD at Princeton U. Impressive," he smiled gently at her, while she rocked on her heels, like a student at the principal's office. "It says here you minored in world languages and are fluent in…ten?"

She laughed nervously. "I didn't write that. I know at least ten, but I don't believe in fluency."

"Meaning…"

"Dr. Grissom, you speak flawless English, but there is no way you know all of it," she began.

"Understandable," he nodded.

"Just as I do not know all of any of the languages I speak. I know them all to a certain extent, enough to get by without sounding like a fool." She grinned, flashing her canine teeth. "I will, however, be happy to translate when possible and necessary."

"Good." There was a knock at the door and Grissom and Chisato turned to see Detective Jim Brass, waiting expectantly to be let in.

"Gil, we have a deadline on that case, you realize. This isn't the time to chat," Brass looked scathingly for a moment at Chisato, who seem good-naturedly shocked.

Grissom sighed. "Jim, this is Dr. Chisato Dominico, the new investigator."

Brass shook his head, "Great, another scientist to deal with." Grissom smirked at Chisato, and she smiled in surprise. "Take her down to the morgue and get some fresh perspective on the case. This needs to go somewhere. Today!" Grissom merely nodded and gestured for Chisato to follow him.

Chisato bowed slightly in Brass's direction and said eloquently, "Pleasure to meet you, Detective," before joining Grissom in the hall.

Grissom glanced in Chisato's direction and raised his eyebrows. "I hope you weren't offended back there," he began, opening his hands and turning them up, as if they reinforced his words, "Jim likes to hassle the new recruits. He thinks he's keeping you on your toes."

"He's the only person I've met so far who I don't have to keep on my toes," she grinned, "We are almost of equal height, no?"

Grissom snickered, a very un-Grissom thing to do, and held open the door to the morgue, following Chisato inside. They both took a white lab coat off the hooks next to the door, and made their way to the stainless steel storage lockers, specifically the one marked, "Johnson, Gary."

"This must be insulting," Grissom remarked, pulling on latex gloves and gesturing for Chisato to do the same.

"How so?"

"You're a medical doctor, you must have done this… countless…" Grissom trailed off.

"My first as a CSI, Doctor?" She smiled. "I wouldn't miss it."

Grissom returned her grin. It seemed strange to him that so young a girl could have accomplished so much. Then again, he had begun lab work at sixteen, and knew that age did not impede skill. With one fluid movement, he wrenched the door open and pulled out the slab.

Chisato tried to suppress it, but something of a gasp emitted from her lips.

"What is it?" Grissom asked kindly. She took a cautionary step backwards.

"They – they must pretty them up in med school." Indeed, the corpse of Gary Johnson was far from pretty. Three long, infected scratches ran diagonally across his face. His body was covered in bruises. What Chisato must have been referring to, however, must have been his gaping stare. The man's eyes had gone cold and glassy, and he relentlessly gazed at the ceiling, at Grissom, at Chisato.

She took another step backwards, but got her foot caught on the hem of her lab coat (which actually belonged to David, the coroner, and was much to long for her) and fell backwards, pulling a sheet off another corpse. She leapt off the ground, drawing in a sharp intake of breath and startling Grissom, only to cover her face with her hand and walk from the room. Grissom watched her lean against the wall, her little shoulders shaking.

He delicately replaced the sheet and made after her. He touched her shoulder lightly, and she bristled. Chisato faced him, cheeks red, head bowed. "I didn't think it would be so hard," she murmured, gesturing towards the body but refusing to look, "He's dead."

Grissom felt it would be rude to say anything, no matter how kind, so he kept quiet.

"Doctor Grissom, no matter what we do, no analyses or lab tests or walkthroughs or interrogations or anything else listed in the field manual can save that man in there," she shook her head, "How can you do this?"

Grissom smiled, despite the rattled twentysomething before him. "Everyone I see, I see as a potential victim," he began, attempting again to touch her arm. She looked up at him, eyes shining. "Every time this lab puts a murderer behind bars, the victims look a little safer."

She blinked and two tears streamed down her face. After a time, she said, resolutely, "I can do this."


	2. Chapter 2

Chisato wiped the tears from her cheeks and strode back into the lab, leaving Grissom alone in the hall. He watched through the transparent glass walls, watched her slowly approach the corpse. She ran her hand an few inches above the length of the body, peered at the cuts on the man's face, and the bruises on his arms and chest. Grissom marvelled at how she looked with wide eyes at the body, even though it terrified her.

Chisato nodded to herself, and closed the storage locker. She hung up her lab coat and faced Grissom outside.

"Well?" He said, smiling gently.

She sighed. "The bruising on his arms and chest suggest blows, probably from a punch." She clenched her own fist and punched at the air, as if to demonstrate. Grissom smiled inwardly at how scrappy she looked.

"And the cuts on his face?" Grissom asked, hoping she, with no bias towards any of the suspects, would have an idea what could have caused them.

"I was just getting to those," she grinned shyly, "I'm thinking due to the fact that the centre cut starts approximately a centimetre above the others, and stops approximately a centimetre short, the cuts were caused by fingernails." She raised her hand and clawed her fingers.

"No fingernails were found on any of the suspects and no traces of foreign DNA were found within the cuts," Grissom explained, rather wearily.

"Could they have been acrylic nails? Sharpened ones maybe?" Chisato asked innocently.

Grissom stopped formulating a chastising response and peered at Chisato's hand, still poised as a claw. "I need to get back to that crime scene." He grabbed his cellphone from his pocket and began dialling Catherine's number. As if forgetting Chisato was there, he suddenly put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, "Go to the lab, Greg will give you some work to do there."

Chisato nodded, visibly downcast. She turned to leave, when she heard, behind her, "Doctor, you may have just broken open this case." Grissom flashed her a rare, open-mouthed smile. She walked quickly round the corner towards the lab, blushing all the way.

A blond, spiky head bobbing to blaring music met Chisato upon entering the lab.

"Excuse me!" She yelled over the hubbub. "I'm looking for a Greg. Could you help me?"

Greg switched off his stereo and turned around. "I'm…" but who he was Chisato would have to wait for, as Greg took in an eyeful of the new CSI. He was instantly attracted to her thick dark hair, although he would later say it was her rich accent.

"Greg Saunders, lab technician and Best Smile winner, three years running," he quipped, upon finding his voice. Chisato laughed and extended her hand.

"Chisato Dominico, I'm the new CSI. Grissom sent me here, saying you could give me some work to do."

Greg shook his head. "He's giving you an informal break or me a special treat. There's nothing for me to do at present, I've processed all of Ecklie's evidence, and Grissom hasn't given me any for the Johnson case. Sorry."

"That's alright," she said, sitting precariously on a stool. "Have you worked here long?"

"About four years, give or take a few months."

"I see," she seemed at a loss for what to say, so she began tinkering with the Erlenmeyer flask behind her, clinking it gently against a retort stand.

"So…" Greg said, and she looked up at him. "Where'd you get that accent?"

"You're blunt," she remarked, and he laughed. "Japanese mother, Italian father."

"Ah," he nodded knowledgably, his signature smirk on his face, "Were you born in America, then?"

"No, Milano," she began, and then corrected herself with, "Milan, sorry. Italy," She added as an afterthought, due to the blank stare Greg was giving her. He was distracted by her spry fingers, how she used them to illustrate her point. She followed his line of sight to her revolving right hand, and promptly sat on it.

Chisato smiled shamefacedly at Greg. "Sorry," she explained, sitting on her other hand before it too started wiggling about, "My mother used to tell me if I kept using my hands to explain things, she'd cut them off. I get it from my father."

Greg shrugged. "Doesn't bother me. It's like a book with pictures." She laughed again.

They talked amicably for an hour or so, recounting various points of their respective pasts. Suddenly, Grissom burst into the lab, Catherine in tow.

"Fingernails," Grissom blurted, tossing ten yellow envelopes onto the counter. "You two process these for any DNA. Greg, show Chisato how it's done." He left as quickly as he came, but Catherine lingered.

"So you're the case-breaker, huh?" Chisato blushed. "Catherine Willows. I look forward to working with you."

"Me also," Chisato stood, bowing.

"Don't mind Grissom," Catherine jerked her head in the direction Grissom had left in, "He's got nothing but work on the brain. If we close this case, maybe he'll human up a little and show some manners." Chisato bit her lip, years of Japanese courtesy had taught her not to speak ill of her boss, nor acknowledge it. However, Catherine grinned. "See you later, newbie."

Chisato returned to the worktable, where Greg showed her how to take samples from each of the ten acrylic fingernails. They were sharpened into wicked looking points, and they found blood trace on the index, middle, and ring fingernails of the right hand. As an afterthought, Greg scraped the inside curve of the nail, and thermocycled whatever DNA could be found there. Another hour later, and Chisato and Greg made their way to one of the workrooms, two warm DNA result sheets clasped in Greg's hands.

"Well?"Grissom asked, standing and reaching out his hand for the sheets of paper in Greg's hands. Catherine smiled at Chisato, but the new CSI was sizing up the other three people seated at the table, Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, and Warrick Brown.

"The blood found on the fingernails belongs to the vic," Greg began, "And, lucky us, we also found a bit of cuticle on one of the fingernails. CODUS came up blank, but the DNA is x,x – female."

Grissom processed the information as he usually did, with one finger up in the air and his mouth gaping open. He looked at Chisato, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. "You're my new favourite," he said happily, tapping her on the nose. "I'm going to get a warrant, you talk over the case with the others." He left the room, followed by Greg. Chisato stood awkwardly before the others, grinding her toe into the floor.

"And maybe while we're at it, we can get better acquainted. I'm Nick Stokes," Nick stood up, shaking Chisato's hand. "That's Warrick Brown and Sara Sidle. I heard you've already met Catherine." Warrick gave Chisato a friendly wave, but Sara barely acknowledged her with a curt nod. Although Chisato couldn't have known it, Sara was reeling about Grissom's 'favourite' comment. "You can sit down, if you like," Nick added kindly, and Chisato foolishly took a seat.

"You're a shy thing, aren't you?" Warrick teased, flipping open the case file, glad he'd finally have something to add to it. The veteran CSIs filled Chisato in on the case, about the initial crime scene, the suspects, and the evidence they'd collected thus far.

"So now I'm thinking our porn star, McCloud, has something to do with this," Nick said, summing up their discussion. "She seems like the clawing type."

"Ooh, kinky," Catherine quipped, and Nick shook his head, grinning embarrassedly. Chisato was drinking in how easily they talked and joked with each other, wondering if she'd ever fit in with this diverse group of people.

Grissom came in, a frown on his face. "Brass won't let me go for a warrant," he explained, taking a seat and slouching within it. "He says we can't target our only female suspect for a DNA sample. We're going to have to dump this case."

The muttered curses and sighs from the rest of the CSIs invoked pity in Chisato. She wondered how many hours they'd spent, processing every square inch of crime scene… She ran over the case in her head… thinking of something… anything…

"Wait!" She cried, and Catherine jumped out of her seat. "The victims' cuts… they were infected, right?"

"Yes," Grissom began, unsure of where she was going.

"In the Doctor's report (Chisato couldn't remember Doc Robbins' name), it said that the infection was a medical anomaly, when Gonorrhoea is transmitted through the blood vessels instead of seminal or vaginal fluid."

"If Ms. McCloud is registered to have Gonorrhoea on the pornography actor's database…" Nick began excitedly.

"…then Ms. McCloud may have been the cause of the scratches on our vic's face." Sara summed up, looking at each of the CSIs in turn.

Grissom tented his fingers together. "We're getting that warrant," he said confidentally. He raised his index finger and pointed it at Chisato, "And you're coming with me."


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a very long night for Chisato. After obtaining a warrant for Miss McCloud's DNA, she and Grissom managed to match it to the DNA found on the fingernails. She then accompanied Grissom and Brass in the interrogation room, where they got a confession from McCloud, that she indeed took part in the murder of Gary Johnson. By the time Chisato plunked down opposite Greg in the employee lounge, her once-neat bun had been plucked askew and bags had begun to form underneath her eyes.

"I don't know how you people put up with him," she said, almost panting. She gratefully accepted a cup of coffee, and inhaled the scent of it before taking a scalding gulp.

"Who, Grissom?" Greg smirked, a dimple showing in his cheek.

"That man works on robot-standard time," she shook her head and dove into another gulp of coffee. "This is excellent, you're an angel."

"Cheers," they clinked their Las Vegas Police Department mugs together and drank deeply. Although he'd given up complaining about late nights years ago, Greg still felt the demons of working twenty-four hours at a time.

After they'd spent a few moments in silence, Chisato nursing her mug as though it were a dear child, Greg spoke up. "You off tomorrow?"

Chisato nodded.

Greg reddened slightly. "Would you like to go out, sometime? Maybe get some dinner? Catch a movie?"

Chisato smiled. "I would love to." She rinsed her empty cup in the sink and put it on a rack to dry. She swung her purse (limited edition Chanel) over her shoulder and winked. "This isn't a date, right? Just a friend thing?"

Greg tried to look casual. "Of course," he forced a laugh, "You think I'm going to try and put the moves on you? Sorry, Chisato, I've got standards." She laughed.

"See you tomorrow, Greg." She shut the door and Greg watched her turn the corner, punching a cushion the second the tip of her right Chuck Taylor disappeared.

Greg buzzed Chisato into his apartment and hovered around the door, waiting to let her in. He'd done the Greg-unthinkable: dusted, vaccumed, and scrubbed every square inch of his place. He'd even changed the sheets (just in case).

There was an abrupt knock and he swung the door open. Chisato stood, wearing a pinstriped shirtdress over jeans, holding a large pizza.

"I brought dinner," she said politely, half-curtseying before walking inside. She left the pizza on the kitchen counter and wandered around. She paused to smile genuinely at Greg.

"You're so clean!"

Greg blushed. "Er… thanks?" After a brief silence, he rubbed his hands together. "So, what are you in the mood for?"

Chisato pondered this while rifling through the coffee table books (that Greg had purchased that very day on sale at Linens n' Things) and peering closely at the Buddha statue perched atop 'Faberge' (the statue was yet another recent purchase). "It doesn't matter, really. What do you have in mind?"

Greg figured that if he told Chisato what he really had on his mind (more or less an all-night fuckfest between the two of them) they'd never speak again. Plus, he found something almost little-sisterly about the way she was scavenging excitedly through a wicker basket under the television stand.

Before he had the chance to speak, Chisato brandished a beaten system, tangled with wires. "Greg?" She asked, practically bouncing. "Is this a Nintendo SIXTY-FOUR?"

"Hey," he said mock-defensively, getting on his knees so that they were face-to-face, "I save all my systems. They're like my children. I have an X-Box if you prefer."

"I used to play Nintendo all the time in Japan with my friends!" She hugged the system to her chest, and made an "uulll" sound when the game cartridge sticking out of the top dug into her ribs. "If you don't have anything exciting planned, do you think we could play some games?"

"Why not?" he said, rather pleased. After they'd hyperventilated getting the system to work (Greg hadn't cleaned EVERYTHING), the pair had eaten half the pizza and beaten the first four temples of Zelda: Ocarina of Time when Chisato's cellphone rang.

"Hello?" She asked, holding up her fingers so that Greg would stifle his laughter.

"Chisato? It's Grissom," his voice sounded tinny over the line. "We've got a big case, and we need an extra investigator and a translator. I know it's your day off, but…"

"…you wanted to kill two birds with one stone? Got it." Grissom gave Chisato the directions to the crime scene and she hung up, looking at Greg.

"I'm so sorry, Greg," she said, frowning. "I've got to-"

"I know. I love eavesdropping," he smiled, trying to hide his disappointment. She sighed, and cupped Greg's cheek in her hand.

"I've had such a great time," she hugged him briefly and got up to leave. "Next time, I play hostess." She pointed at him and winked. "See you at the lab!"

Greg nodded, and waved goodbye. He watched her Cadillac CTS leave the parking lot, two red taillights on an otherwise empty street.

"Victim is a fifty-two year old Yoshitoki Mitsuda, Japanese businessman on vacation," Grissom said, briefing Chisato from his notes. They ducked under the yellow crime scene tape and stood before the scene. The Tangiers hotel suite was trashed. There was blood everywhere, on the sheets, the carpet, the walls. The victim lay in a pool of it on the bed, pants around his ankles. His slashed neck seemed the evident cause of death, as did the machete left next to him the murder weapon.

Grissom wrinkled his nose, and then led Chisato to the left of the body. "Chisato, this is David, the coroner."

"Hi, David the coroner," Chisato said, crouching next to him. "What's our estimated time of death?"

"I'd clock it at roughly two hours ago," David replied, impressed by the newbie's professionalism. "Look forward to working with you, by the way."

"Thanks," Chisato smiled, and then turned to Grissom. "Who found the body?" Grissom pointed to a hysterical Japanese girl on the patio.

"I think it's his mistress," he said, shrugging, "Her name is Saiyuki Tendo, but she doesn't really know English. That's where you come in." Chisato nodded.

"My name is Chisato, I'm with the Crime Lab," she said in courteous Japanese to the girl, "I understand that this is has been a traumatic event for you. Please answer a few questions for my associate, Dr. Grissom." Chisato looked expectantly at Grissom, and he took a deep breath. For every question he put to the witness (and suspect), Chisato translated it into eloquent Japanese, and the answers back into practical English.

"What was your relationship with Mr. Mitsuda?"

"I was his entertainer."

Grissom paused. "Was she a prostitute?"

"I don't think so," Chisato replied, "Japanese men merely enjoy the company of women. She could have been an aspiring singer, or actress."

"Ask her, please."

Chisato did as she was told. Her eyes widened at the response.

"Gil," she said slowly, "Miss Tendo is saying that this was a hit on Mr. Mitsuda. That he is part of a Tokyo-based Yakuza clan named the Blood Orchids."

"Have you heard of that clan before?"

Chisato nodded solemnly. Jim Brass appeared behind her. "The hotel manager says that Mr. Mitsuda was a white-collar businessman, not a mob boss," the Captain said, narrowing his eyes at Chisato. "Where's her proof?"

Chisato asked Saiyuki if she could prove that the affiliation was true. The witness wiped her eyes and pulled Chisato into the shadows. They both returned, Chisato white-faced.

"She's an orchid alright," Chisato said regretfully, staring at Grissom and Brass with wide, reproachful eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

"The Blood Orchids practically run Tokyo. Their influence is everywhere. Any decent nightclub in town has an Orchid plant inside. They know where everyone important is, all the time," Chisato said this in a hush, her eyes wide and frightened. After Grissom had called Sara and Warrick to process the scene thoroughly, he and Chisato returned to the lab, and, with Brass included, she began to speak all she knew of the Blood Orchids.

"Did you know them?" Brass asked, his blazer off. He leaned forward, his hands resting on the back of a cold metal chair.

Chisato nodded. "I did, some of them."

"Did you know our victim, Mr. Mitsuda?" Grissom inquired, fascinated. He had been a CSI for decades, but never had trusted, living evidence right in front of him, ready to be indexed and sought after for information. He blinked, and his thrill waned watching Chisato squirm uncomfortably in her own skin. The Blood Orchids were obviously something she did not like to speak of.

"Gil, the Blood Orchids are a massive underground organization, not a dinner club. I knew a select few," she sighed, "Miss Tendo said that Mr. Mitsuda was high on the company ladder – if he wasn't the boss, the boss must be out looking for a new co-chair. I've never personally seen any of them." She tented her index fingers and pressed them to her lips, staring at the table.

"I've got to speak with the hotel manager and get those lock times you requested, Gil," Brass said, slipping an arm into his suit jacket. "Keep at it, you two." He opened the door and left.

Grissom stared at Chisato, who looked nervous. She wrung her hands together, anticipating the question from no one else but the CSI supervisor. "Chisato?" He said calmly, "What did Miss Tendo show you?"

Chisato smiled ruefully. "The insignia of the Blood Orchids – a tattoo, on her hip."

"How did you know about…" Grissom trailed off, looking at a loss for words. Chisato sighed again, and stood up. She crossed the room, until she was standing in front of Grissom. Any closer and she'd have been on his lap. She bit her lip and looked away, pulling her shirt dress up to the waist of her jeans, and then, with the other hand, her jeans down an inch and a half. Grissom squinted at the design. A white orchid, beautifully done, with a red drop of blood about to fall from the lowest petal. There were Japanese characters next to the flower, but Grissom did not understand them.

"Meet me, ten years ago," she said, her voice bittersweet. He stared at her, open-mouthed. She dropped her dress down and sat, feeling violated, at the other side of the table. "Don't look at me like that, please."

"I'd apologize, but I mean… how did this happen? How did you even slip through the – the cracks?" Grissom stuttered this out. He was massaging his forehead in disbelief.

"I'm not a crook," she said haughtily, glaring at Grissom, "I never have been. The Orchid bigwigs' sons and nephews would have me out for parties and things like that. They didn't pay for me to be there, I just went."

Grissom exhaled deeply. He squeezed his eyes shut. _I knew there had to be something wrong about her, _he thought, feeling a headache approaching, _figures it be an affiliation with a massive Japanese mob ring._ He shook his head. "So why the tattoo, then?"

"All the girls were getting them," she said, embarrassed. "It was a stupid thing to do, but I was just a kid. At the time, I wanted to be in with them. When my mother died, I realized it was time to start over, and I severed any ties I had with them. I figured telling anyone would only spoil my chances of success. I can't see any harm done."

Grissom slammed his hand on the table. "No harm done?" He shouted, and Chisato jumped. "If word gets out that a member of the department has mob ties, no matter how thin or 'severed' (he emphasized the use of Chisato's word maliciously) we'll have the media crawling all over the place!"

"Is ten years really an issue, Doctor? (Grissom noted she'd curtly reverted to her professional tone.) I mean, really. Wasn't Catherine a stripper not too long ago? Oh right. And Nick's murder charge on that prostitute… wasn't that just… one year ago? I don't recall ever being accused of murdering anybody. For Christ's sake, I've never even been said to be 'affiliated' with the Orchids before, even ten years ago, when that seemed remotely plausible!" Grissom sat silent, beating himself up for overreacting. Chisato was fierce. "The only thing I have is this tattoo, and by now, thousands of Japanese have a copy. The design was so popular, people got it just to pretend they rolled with Orchids."

"So how do you know Miss Tendo didn't-"

"-get an Orchid tattoo for the hell of it? She wouldn't be in Vegas if she did, that's for sure. She's his entertainer, you know, pour the sake, sing some karaoke, and maybe give him a thrill-" Grissom raised his eyebrows "-nothing more."

"And was that your job, Doctor?" He said, pissed that he had nothing more to argue with her about. "Giving 'thrills' to gangster offspring?" The words struck her like a slap across the face.

"That is none of your business," she said, scowling, "When you want to be the professional everyone says you are, I'll be in the lab." She swung the door open and stormed out of the room. Grissom watched the door close slowly, his head resting on his fist. He didn't want to admit it, but he'd made a big mistake.

The jarring ring of his cellphone shook Grissom out of his thoughts. He answered it the usual way – "Grissom."

"Hey Griss, it's Warrick," the CSI sounded cool, even over the line, "A car accident occurred in the Tangiers loop right around the time of the murder. I bet you'll never guess the cause."

"Don't play games with me, Warrick."

Grissom heard Warrick huff. "A flying donut hit the windshield and the driver smashed into the car in front."

"Look for any connections to the case. I'll see you at the lab."

"Gotcha, Grissom, we're just packing up."

"Okay. Bye."

While Grissom hung up his call with Warrick, Chisato was rummaging through her locker, looking for a new package of Kleenex. The small trashcan she kept at the bottom of her locker was teeming with tissue rosettes, and she slammed the door shut in frustration.

"Hey," Sara said upon entering, trying to take the highroad and relate to Chisato.

"Hey Sara," she replied quietly, smiling feebly. Before Sara could say anything else, Chisato remarked, "Does Grissom ever just… piss you off?"

"Constantly," Sara grinned, "It's what makes him so… charming."

"Charming," Chisato growled, "He treats people like test subjects and expects them to be okay with it. Shameful, more like."

Sara was taken aback, but refused to stoop down. She squared her shoulders and moved her arms up and down, saying in a staccato voice, "human emotion. Does not compute."

Chisato burst out laughing. After her peals had subsided, Sara said, "I know he's tough to get used to. But whatever he said, he didn't mean the way he said it, I'm sure. He's probably threatened by how smart you are." Chisato smiled, shamefaced. "In time, you'll learn to like him. Believe me." And, in an inaudible voice, Sara added, "I know I do."

"Thanks, Sara," Chisato said genuinely. The two of them sat on the narrow bench dividing the women's and men's lockers, Sara cross-legged and Chisato hugging her knees. "Did you and Warrick find anything interesting at the scene?"

"What didn't we find?" Sara mused, "Semen stains, cigar butts, all kinds of fast food garbage, and – get this – a donut hit a windshield right around the time of the murder."

"A donut?" Chisato repeated, befuddled. "Honey-glazed or cream filling?"

"We'll soon find out," Sara grinned, and they headed towards the lab, where the evidence she and Warrick had found was being tagged and re-photographed.

Sara left to speak with Grissom, and Chisato and Warrick sifted through the objects, offering suggestions about what each could have been used for.

"The sugar on this donut seems different," Warrick said, frowning, "Melted, almost."

"So it was heated for… optimal flight?" They both snickered.

"So how do you like us so far?" Warrick asked, setting the bagged donut down and looking quizzically at Chisato.

She glanced out the window, to where Grissom and Sara were talking.

"I like you just fine," she replied, flashing her teeth.


	5. Chapter 5

The three doctors (Robbins, Grissom, and Chisato) huddled over the mutilated corpse of Yoshitoki Mitsuda.

"Well," Doc Robbins said plainly, "Cause of death is pretty obvious. Deep laceration to the neck – he bled out."

Chisato made a face and nodded. "The victim was found with his pants off – any signs of sexual activity?"

"We found traces of vaginal fluid – I passed that on to Greg. Another substance was found, it's being processed by Hodges."

"Anything else?" Grissom asked. He and Chisato avoided speaking directly to each other, although this was lost on the Doc (who spent most of his time with the incommunicado).

"Nothing too spectacular. He was in fairly good health, wore glasses for nearsightedness – nothing big – and his tox screen came up blank." He shrugged.

"Thanks, Doc," Grissom said half-heartedly.

"Good luck," he replied, waving them out of the morgue. Grissom and Chisato hung up their lab coats and stepped into the hallway. They stood facing each other, although Chisato seemed enraptured with Doc Robbins' cleanup and Grissom flipped through his clipboard fervently.

"I'm going to go meet Hodges," she said, pointing towards the trace lab. She turned on her heel and left without another word.

Chisato had heard about Hodges from Greg. She looked forward to pushing as many of his buttons as she could.

"Hi," she chimed, climbing on a stool right next to trace tech, peering over his shoulder.

Hodges huffed an angry "hello" and said nothing more, his face never leaving the microscope's eyepiece.

"I'm here for the substance," she remarked in a lusty voice. She considered adding "lover" and watching him twitch, but realized, as Greg had suggested, that Hodges indeed had no sense of humour whatsoever.

"Take a look," he ushered her forward, and she peered into the eyepiece. Clear crystals met her eyes.

Hodges was staring in a snotty, expectant sort of way, so she ventured a guess. "Clear, crystalline forms… salt maybe? Sugar?"

"You're close," he sniffed, crossing his arms. "Glaze, melted and then crystallized."

"What kind of glaze… ceramic glaze?" Chisato narrowed her eyes at trace tech, making them illuminate.

"No," Hodges rolled his own eyes, as if nothing could be more obvious, "Icing glaze. Like on a donut." Chisato's head shot up at the mention of the mention of the word, nearly clocking Hodges in the nose.

"And it was…" she trailed off.

"On his penis, yes."

Chisato scowled. "Why?"

Hodges gathered up his things. Chisato distinctly heard him mutter, "That's your job," as he walked away. Chisato rushed for DNA lab.

Grissom and Warrick flanked Greg's shoulders, reading from the DNA printout.

"This doesn't match your entertainer, Miss Tendo, guys – your vic was… ahem… familiar with someone else," Greg said, as Chisato burst through the door.

"There's donut glaze on his penis," she gasped, grabbing Warrick's shoulder with one hand and her knee with the other. "I mean, there was. Before!" She paused to smile at the three of them, panting.

"Slow down, kiddo," Warrick gently removed her hand from his shoulder and pushed her down on a stool next to Greg. "You're saying the flying donut was once on Mr. Mitsuda's…"

"Johnson?" Greg offered.

"The unidentified substance is glaze," Chisato confirmed.

"Sex play, maybe?" Grissom offered.

"Whoever's DNA was found with this glaze was extremely close to our vic," Warrick remarked.

"But we have no other leads," Chisato sighed, pouting.

"So you think, mon Cherie," Greg purred, waving a CODUS readout, "Meet Gina Simmonds, busted four years ago for possession."

"Why didn't you say this before?" Grissom questioned, his eyebrows knit together.

"Girl Interrupted," Greg pointed to Chisato, grinning. Grissom let out a loud huff, snatched the readout from Greg's hands, and strode from the room.

"Sheesh, who pissed in his cornflakes this morning?" Greg muttered, hunting for a laugh out of Chisato. Instead, she cast her eyes to the floor, fumbling with the hem of her shirtdress. Things between her and Grissom had started so well, and now she'd felt like she'd messed everything up. She knew the truth about herself had to come out sometime – but she had wanted to put it off.

'Until Armageddon, right?' Chisato thought angrily. 'Fucking judgement day?' Her thoughts were a mixture of Italian, Japanese, and German, her favourite "angry" language.

"Hey," Warrick tapped Chisato's shoulder, startling her out of her trance. "Aren't you due for a break?"

She shook her head. "I'll stay," she forced a smile. "This is my first real case. I'm not going anywhere."

"At least sit in the breakroom," he replied coyly, "Last thing we need around here is a Grissom junior." Chisato laughed, and made her way towards the door, nearly crashing into Catherine.

"Whoa, Chis," Catherine said, finding the tone she often used with her daughter, Lindsay. She rearranged the things in her arms (including her forensics kit, vest, and coffee mug) to keep them from crashing to the floor.

"Sorry, Catherine, I've got to watch where I'm going," Chisato reached out and took some of the things Catherine was carrying, setting them on the ground. "I was distracted by the two extremely handsome gentlemen at my six o' clock."

Catherine looked directly at Greg and Warrick and smiled her infamous half-smile. "If you see them again, give me a yell."

Chisato grinned, while Greg and Warrick let out cries of mock-protest. "I'm heading down to the breakroom, see you later."

"I just put some donuts in there, if you're interested," Catherine offered, setting her things down on the table.

Chisato made a face. "God, no," she insinuated, and Greg and Warrick laughed.


	6. Chapter 6

Chisato answered her phone mid-ring. "Hello?" There was a pause on the line.

"It's me, Grissom," she heard, her eyes widening in surprise. "Could you buzz me in?"

"Sure," she said, stunned. She pressed the "OK" button on her handset and stood up from her sofa, stretching out. Heeding Warrick's advice, Chisato left for home a little after the sixteen-hour mark on her timecard. However, even after pulling a double shift that followed her lengthy visit to Greg's apartment, she could not sleep. She had paced her downtown condo for hours, going over the case repeatedly. Thinking how close she'd been to that kind of life…

There was a knock at the door. _Grissom_. Chisato had no idea why he was coming to her place, let alone speaking to her. _Oh fuck_, she thought, _I must be fired._ She clenched her fists and took a deep breath, resolute.

She unlocked the door and opened it. Grissom was looking down the hall, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

"Doctor Grissom?" She said, startling him. He stared at her, in her ballet tights and oversized sweater (more like a dress).

"Can the formalities," he said kindly, smoothing his hair back. "Just Gil, or Grissom, please."

She bit her lip and shrugged. "Sure." They stood in silence, Grissom clutching the flowers to his chest like a life preserver. "You can come in, if you like." She pushed the door against the wall and gestured for him to enter.

He wandered in slowly, and upon noting the neat line of shoes by the door (including Chisato's beloved denim Chucks), Grissom kicked his off and surveyed the condo.

Grissom noted the trendiness of it straightaway. The entire living area was open-concept – a fully-stocked kitchen, little dining table, two armless modern black leather sofas, face-to-face, with a square coffee table inbetween. The room was L-shaped, and Grissom could see a piano bench peeking around the corner. There was a Shoji-style door to the right, beautifully backlit, but what entranced him most were the windows. They spanned the entire back wall, and (he assumed, judging by how light the room was) around the corner. He could see so much of Vegas, the setting sun in the distance, the lights of the city popping on one by one.

He noticed Chisato, peering at him quizzically, pulling at the bottom of her sweater. "Nice place," he said finally, when a big, reverbrating mass hit his shins.

Chisato exclaimed something in Italian and rushed forward, grabbing the giant black cat purring against Grissom's leg.

"This is Montesquieu," she huffed, hoisting the cat up so that its front paws rested on her shoulder. "He's very – ugh – affectionate." The cat had thick black fur with tuxedo markings, and narrowed its green eyes lazily at Grissom, as Chisato burrowed her fingers behind his pointy ears.

"The French political scientist, Montesquieu?" Grissom asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The very same," she smiled despite herself, but then shook her head, setting Montesquieu down and giving him a gentle kick, so that he dashed up a side staircase Grissom hadn't noticed. "What are you doing here, Grissom?"

He paused, unsure of what to say. "I'm – I'm sorry about how unprofessional I was today," he said, thrusting the flowers into her arms. "These are for you."

She tried not to smirk. "Thank you, Gil, they're lovely. I'm going to get a vase." She went for a cupboard under the sink, and as an afterthought, motioned for Grissom to sit down. As she bustled about, Grissom felt it was best to explain himself when she wasn't looking straight at him.

"I realize how poorly I treated you today, and it was completely uncalled for. I had just… built up in my mind this – this idea that you were this 'ideal CSI' or something equally ridiculous. It never crossed my mind that you'd had a past that was…"

"Normal?" She piped, grinning. She filled a black ceramic vase with water and began trimming the stems of the flowers with a pair of shears.

Grissom returned the grin. "I guess so," he admitted, and then sighed. "I realize that you probably are wary of talking to me at present, but I'd like to take you to dinner. I need to ask you more questions about the Blood Orchids." Chisato gaped at him, her mouth open. A smile spread across her cheeks.

"I never pass up free food," she winked. "I'll be five minutes."

After she had changed, Chisato and Grissom took Grissom's giant Ford to a little Thai restaurant in a more suburban area of Las Vegas. After being seated, Grissom leaned forward excitedly and whispered, "What would a member of the Orchid elite (by this time, Grissom has made many assumptions about mobster lingo and applied it ruthlessly, to the dismay of the other CSI's) be doing in Vegas?"

Chisato snorted. "Gamble?" She raised her eyebrow. "I don't know, get laid, drink up a storm, play blackjack, see Celine Dion. Anything."

"So, you're saying he wasn't here for… business?" Grissom asked, disappointment seeping into his voice.

"I don't think so, I could ask Miss Tendo for you, but I think this was just a personal vacation. There's no business for Yakuza in Vegas."

"I interviewed the prostitute, Gina Simmonds. She didn't know anything about the donut and said he was alive and well when she left. Moreover, we have video footage of her leaving the suite at least an hour before the murder," Grissom sighed. "We've got nowhere to go but Miss Tendo."

Chisato blew a stray lock of hair that had fallen in front of her nose. A waiter handed them their menus and Chisato squinted at the fine print. She shook her head.

"I forgot my contacts." She burrowed through her purse and procured a pair of rimless spectacles. Chisato ceremoniously breathed on each lens and rubbed them with a cloth. "Much better." She grinned at Grissom, and then suddenly jumped up. "We have to talk to Miss Tendo again… but first, I need to see the evidence."

"Wha – why?" Grissom asked, distraught. "We haven't even eaten."

"I'll explain on the way."

Chisato and Grissom arrived at the lab, where Chisato practically skidded down the hallways in her high heels until she reached the evidence room. She rifled through a box marked "Mitsuda, Yoshitoki", pulling out a Krispy Kreme wrapper with a flourish. Grissom watched intently from the door.

After slipping on a pair of latex gloves, Chisato broke the seal of the evidence bag and carefully took the wrapper out. She sprayed diazaflouren all over the wrapper, and then looked excitedly at Grissom.

"The fast food trash we found in the suite was irrelevant before," she explained, her grey eyes shining, "Because we hadn't tied the donut to the crime scene. But whoever opened this wrapper might have been in – ahem – an extremely close proximity to our victim. I figure that our vic might not know the difference between a donut and a vagina without his glasses."

Grissom narrowed his eyes. "Wouldn't know the difference?"

"Sometimes, it just gets so hot, you don't care what you're…" Chisato blushed, "Well, you know."

Grissom entered the room and peered at the donut wrapper. "There you go, kiddo. Your print is ready."

"It's a match to Miss Tendo," Jackie said excitedly, minutes later. "You got her." Chisato shivered, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Brass entered the room.

"Your suspect is waiting, Miss Dominico," he said, waving Chisato out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Chisato sat across from Sayuri Tendo, who was whispering frantically to her attorney. The lawyer, Karen Watts, gave Chisato a dirty look.

"You won't get a word out of my client until you translate the question into plain English and I've allowed her to answer – understood?"

"Quite well," Chisato replied icily. Grissom, watching from behind the two-way mirror, marvelled at the change in her – her pale skin glowed under the cool fluorescent lighting and her grey eyes flashed dangerously. The quiet, timid CSI he'd known thus far had vastly transformed.

Chisato licked behind her teeth, a habit she'd developed when switching from one language to another. She slid the photographed fingerprint off the donut wrapper across the table. "Our fingerprint lab matched the print on this wrapper to your finger." She repeated it to the lawyer and Watts nodded.

"It was his favourite sex game," Tendo said, unfazingly. "So what?"

"I didn't say anything about sex, Chisato grinned darkly. "Why'd you throw the donut out the window?"

"Don't answer that." Karen glared at Chisato, who yawned.

"Here's what I think." Chisato began, leaning forward. "You couldn't stand Mr. Mitsuda. You were some low-profile neo-geisha who rolled with Orchid boys – never Orchid men. But Mr. Mitsuda met you. He liked you. And all of the sudden, you weren't hitting the clubs anymore. You were nothing more than a secretary with benefits – a quick lay and back to work, right? The icing on the cake was when he dragged you here. You'd had enough. You knew he'd been with a prostitute earlier but needed an excuse to get close to him – you unwrapped the donut, microwaved it so it's be hot and sticky, and then had fake intercourse with him. He lay back, and you slit his throat. You figured that if you called him in we wouldn't consider him. Let me tell you something, Miss Tendo. You thought wrong."

"I don't need you giving my client false legal implications, Miss Dominico," the lawyer sneered.

"Save it," Chisato huffed.

"We're done here," Karen Watts began stuffing letters into her briefcase while Chisato looked bored.

Sayuri reached out and grabbed her counsel's arm. "Wait," she said desperately, in broken English. "I'm not finished."

Watts sighed and sat down. "Let it be on record that I have advised my client not to divulge the following information."

"You heard the girl," Brass spoke up, "Save it." He gave Chisato a brief wink and motioned for her to continue.

"Your lawyer doesn't want you to say anything," Chisato began, but Tendo cut her off.

"I know that, I'm not stupid," the girl retorted. And you were wrong."

"About what?" Chisato gritted her teeth, and for a moment the two Japanese girls shared a dark smile.

"I loved Yoshi," the words made Chisato's eyes widen. "I begged him to go on this trip. He ignored me the entire time. He even hired a dirty whore – it was me he should have wanted. And when he turned his back on me…"

"…You made him pay," Chisato murmured.

"That's right," Tendo jeered, "And no one in this room knows it but you and me."

Archie, the A/V tech burst into the room, a portable DVD player in hand. Chisato, not knowing him, whipped around.

"Please, God, be a translator," Chisato said, in Japanese. Archie's eyes darted from Chisato's, to Brass's, and rested on Watts', only because she looed the least interested.

"Uh…" he began, not knowing what Chisato had babbled. "I've got some pertinent evidence."

Chisato and Karen stood simultaneously, both reaching for the DVD player in Archie's hands. He handed it to Chisato and she opened it, pressing play.

The surveillance image on the screen was of Miss Tendo, cleaning her hands and nightgown in the bathroom sink. Blood ran continuously down the drain.

"As it turns out," Archie grinned, "There was an illegal peep show ring run by a few bellhops."

Chisato smiled evilly at Sayuri. "Lucky me."

"Bitch!" Sayuri jumped at Chisato, but the officers in the interrogation room restrained her. "You couldn't understand." The girl said, somewhat helplessly, as Brass read her her rights.

"You have no idea," Chisato replied, winking at Grissom through the two-way mirror and leaving the room.

"Wait," Grissom said, meeting her in the hallway. "I'd like to congratulate you on an exemplary job."

Chisato reddened. "Please," she replied, "You couldn't even understand me."

"I had a translator," he smiled, and her eyes widened.

"Well then," she licked her teeth and punched Grissom affectionately. "You still owe me dinner." She stalked away, her high heels clacking on the lab's linoleum floors.

"You know, I've never been grocery shopping with a girl before," Greg said amiably, as Chisato picked up a bag of fresh pasta. The pair were celebrating Chisato's first wrapped case, and, true to her word, they were heading to Chisato's condo for a Tarantino festival. After grabbing chips and coke, oreos and table grapes, they were ready to check out.

"Hey, Chisato!" The cashier greeted, a beautiful Indian girl with large, dark eyes and a nose stud.

"Hi, Soraya, this is Greg, my new work buddy."

"Hi," Greg raised a hand in greeting and whispered to Chisato, "Exactly how do you know each other?"

"I used to work here," Chisato said plainly, helping Soraya parcel her groceries.

"What?" Greg asked dubiously.

"I needed something to do while my application for CSI cleared."

"My God, I'm never doubting entry-level employees again.." he scratched his head. "A cashier… with a doctorate."

"That's me," Chisato grinned. "See you, Soraya."

Greg and Chisato arrived at her condo, and while Greg caught an eyeful of her place, Chisato unpacked the groceries. They finally settled on one of Chisato's sleek leather sofas, Montesquieu and a bowl of Ruffles squished between them.

"I need to use the facilities," Greg announced.

Chisato looked confused. "There's a gym," she started, "And a pool…"

Greg laughed. "The bathroom."

"Oh." She smiled. "First door on the left when you come in."

Greg made his way to the front hallway and found the bathroom. He admired the blue-glass basin sinks on the white marble countertop and the centre mahogany tub.

He finished up and returned to the living area of the condo, where the menu for Pulp Fiction played on Chisato's picture frame television.

"Did I mention that your house is completely bitchin'?" Greg smiled, although his face fell when he happened upon Chisato, asleep. He sighed, draping a white angora throw he found over her, and sat down resignedly. He watched Pulp Fiction on mute, scratching Montesquieu behind the ears.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: Thanks for reading! This chapter features lyrics from Matthew Good Band's "Haven't Slept in Years." While obviously not required, getting a copy of this song is advisable, even if you don't end up reading this entry. The song alone is amazing. Thanks again, Lauren.

After searching through Chisato's bookshelves for any English novel with less than five hundred pages, Greg settled on a Japanese comic book and curled up with Montesquieu on the sofa facing Chisato.

Despite having no one for company for an entire night (where he slept a few hours, albeit said hours were fitful) Greg was not bored. He loved watching Chisato sleep, how her eyelids fluttered now and then, how she would suddenly let out a great sigh as if she worried even in dreaming. She appeared so vulnerable there, but Greg didn't feel right moving her to the small, main floor bedroom. He didn't want to risk waking her knowing she'd slept so little.

He leafed through the comic book; disturbed that Montesquieu's purr felt so pleasant against his leg, when he happened upon a photo booth picture. It was undoubtedly Chisato – but not the shy girl he'd been getting to know. She and the other Japanese friend in the photo stared at Greg with a certain affluence he'd had yet to see. Chisato's friend bit her lip ring playfully, but Chisato's gaze was haunting. He couldn't look away from the two intense grey eyes in the photo.

A yawn tore him away from the angry Chisato of the past to the fatigued one of the present. He stowed the photo in the comic and slid it under the coffee table.

Greg barely had time to say "Good Morning" when a throw pillow sailed in his direction. "Why did you let me do that?" Chisato sulked, sticking out her lip.

"Do what?" Greg retorted, mimicking her pout.

"Sleep!" She replied plaintively.

Greg rolled his eyes. "I am disgusted with myself, Chis. Next time, I assure, I will bring my taser and keep you awake by force."

"I'll hold you to that, Mr. Saunders," Chisato smiled. "Did you sleep?"

Greg noted the worry in her and lied. "Yeah, I passed out a little after you did."

"Good," Chisato stretched, listening to the satisfying crack of her joints, and headed toward the kitchen. "Want breakfast?"

The pair cooked up bacon, eggs, and toast and lounged around the kitchen area rather than sitting in one spot. Greg was eating at the breakfast bar island while Chisato swung her legs on top of the counter when she asked, "So you do you think is sexiest at work?" Greg nearly spit up his coffee, but kept his cool.

"You mean, besides us?"

"Well naturally," Chisato took a bite from her toast and tomato sandwich, and said, through a mouthful of food, "We're gorgeous."

"Hmm…." Greg pretended to think. "You first."

Chisato let out a long sigh and lay back on the counter. "It's obvious, my dear," she said, "Warrick Brown."

"Really?" Greg's cheeks burned.

"Yes sir! Those eyes of his are enchanting."

Greg laughed. "And the ladies? Who's your first pick?"

"Catherine, no doubt," Chisato said unfazingly.

"I can't believe you answered that," Greg suppressed the minute fantasies brewing up inside his head.

"Whatever, I'm comfortable with myself enough to admit that Catherine's a total MILF."

Greg laughed again. "That's cool," He said, holding up his hands, "Any videotaped goings-on between the two of you is totally fine with me."

"Pig," Chisato snorted, rolling her eyes. "Your turn."

Greg hesitated. It wasn't the pressure of admitting he liked Chisato – she'd luckily lifted that. Greg felt guilty he'd have to say someone he'd had feelings for not too long ago.

"Sara, I guess," Greg shrugged.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Pick a man!" Chisato replied deviously.

"No way," Greg shook a fork at her.

"You suck," she sulked.

"You know, I never thought I'd hear you say 'You suck'."

"I get it from you."

Greg chuckled. "Do I get to ask a question?"

"Sure, but you answer it first."

"Okay," Greg began, "When did you lose your virginity? I was 22."

"Twenty-two?" Chisato asked dubiously. "Really?"

"Yes, really. And you?"

Chisato went silent. Greg leaned forward. "You're not a virgin, are you?"

Chisato snickered hollowedly. "Please."

"Okay, so how old were you?"

"If you pick a man, I'll tell you," she looked at Greg sideways, egging him on.

Greg sighed. He'd have given up any other time, but wanted to see how far he could push it.

"Nick," he finally said, and Chisato clasped her hands together. "Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic," she grinned.

Greg gave her an obvious look. "The jig is up, Chis. How old were you?" Her smile faded. She pulled her knees up to her chin and said something in an inaudible.

"Beg pardon?" Again, Chisato responded very quietly. Greg frowned. "Look, Chis, I don't want to force it out of –"

"I was thirteen, okay?" She interrupted. Greg's eyes widened in surprise.

"Wow."

"I'm not particularly proud of it, either." She mumbled. "And I've never told anyone that." Chisato did not look at Greg but stared blankly at the sink. Suddenly, she covered her face with her hands and let out a loud sob.

Greg leapt from his seat and stood next to her, his hand precariously on her shoulder. "Hey hey now," he soothed, "I'm so sorry, Chis."

"It isn't your fault," she sniffed, "You must think I'm some…" Chisato trailed off and more tears ran down her face.

Greg cupped Chisato's cheek in his hand and turned her to face him. "Never," he said softly, thumbing the tears from her cheeks. Chisato wordlessly wrapped her arms around Greg's neck and he held her for a while.

Chisato pulled back and smiled. "Greg," she said, kissing him on the nose, "I'm really glad you came."

"Me too," he grinned, his cheeks growing rosy. "Let's watch some Tarantino, huh?"

"What now?" Chisato asked, as the credits of Kill Bill Vol. 2 ran across the screen. Greg took his arm from the back of the couch and tented his fingers.

"We could go out," he shrugged, raising her eyebrows at Chisato.

"Like where? I'm kind of movie-d out," She absentmindedly played with the hair at the nape of Greg's neck. Greg swallowed hard.

"We could go to a club."

"A club? You don't strike me as the type," Chisato smirked.

"I know this rock club not too far from here – they book good bands."

Chisato smiled. "It's settled then. I'll get my purse."

"Do you want a drink?" Greg offered, helping Chisato take her seat at the bar.

"I'd love one – a martini, no olive, please."

"Make it two," Greg winked at the bartender. They sipped their drinks and made casual conversation until Chisato shielded her face and muttered, "Oh shit."

"What?" Greg whispered.

"I know the band, those guys over there."

"What did they do to you?"

"Nothing."

"Chisato! Hiding from me?" A Chinese twentysomething with emo glasses and a Beatle-cut took the stool on the opposite side of Chisato.

"Hey Chase," she replied, "You guys are playing tonight, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah, we're doing audience requests, got any?"

"Know any Manson?" Greg offered coyly.

"Hey Chis," Chase said, after giving a friendly smile to Greg. "You should sing a set with us."

Chisato said "no" at the same time as Greg's excited "Yes!"

"Oh, c'mon," Chase goaded.

"Can she sing?" Greg asked.

"No, I can't, and I won't," Chisato pouted, crossing her arms defensively.

"You can so," Chase persisted, poking her arm.

"Yeah, can so," Greg repeated, prodding her other shoulder.

"What the hell are you guys, like, five?" Chisato growled playfully and downed the rest of her drink. "I hate you both." She marched up to the stage and climbed on. Chase scrambled after her.

Chase took up his guitar and spoke into the microphone, "Hey, how's everyone doing tonight?" A murmur of acknowledgement drifted through the bar. Chase grinned. "I am delighted to announce that we, the Cellars, are joined by one of the coolest chicks in Nevada. Come here, Chis."

Chisato sidled next to Chase and he put his arm around her. Greg felt a tinge of jealousy, but it evaporated when he saw the terror on Chisato's face. Her eyes were wide, frantically darting from patron to patron.

"What are we playing, Chis?" She shivered.

"Um…" Chisato hesitated. "Some Matthew Good Band?"

"Is that a question"" Chase smirked, noting her panic. "We'll start off with Pony Boy and work up from there." Chase pulled his mouth away from the mike and whispered, "Just start when you're ready." Chisato nodded.

The band played through the song, Chisato providing harmonies throughout the chorus. Though it was quiet, Greg was surprised at the quality or her voice, its clarity and sweetness. He considered phoning Nick and Warrick, but decided he wanted this part of Chisato all to himself.

A few more songs and Chisato spoke directly into the microphone.

"Thanks, Chase," she smiled, winking at the crowd, "For helping me get over that bout of nervousness. The next song we'll be playing is Haven't Slept in Years, by Matt Good!"

Chase strummed the first few chords of the song and Chisato took control of the stage for the first time that night, her voice singing out:

Make me your animal  
Make me your freak  
And I will pack them in  
It's understandable  
After all you're only human  
All this time its been killing me  
All this time its been  
Caving in my head  
Killing me  
Alive Alive Alive  
You're dead  
Haven't slept in years  
Haven't talked to anybody else  
Haven't slept in years  
Haven't talked to anybody else  
Anybody else  
Make me your cannibal  
Make me your product and  
I will make you rich  
Well it's still fashionable  
Isn't it, Isn't it  
Isn't it?  
And all this time it's been killing you  
All this time it's been  
Caving in your head  
Killing you  
Alive Alive Alive  
You're dead

While Chisato sang the second chorus, she plucked the chopstick from the knot at the back of her head, and her dark brown curls cascaded down her back. Greg clenched his knees together and bit his lip.

As Chisato bowed and left the stage, Greg's eyes never left her. He pulled her into a tight hug, ecstatic for the chance to bury his fingers in her thick hair.


End file.
